


Sunflowers

by carpelucem



Category: Man of Steel (2013), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Coffee Shops, Crossover, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2013-12-09
Packaged: 2018-01-04 03:37:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1076069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carpelucem/pseuds/carpelucem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve has found he’s kind of the embodiment of sentimental and old-fashioned these days, and the world needs a little more of it.</p><p>That's why he opens Joe's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunflowers

**Author's Note:**

> Because a coffeeshop crossover for these two was totally necessary.

It turns out, much to Steve's surprise, the superhero business isn't all it's cracked up to be. To his surprise, there's a lot (a LOT) of downtime. Thankfully, there aren't that many villains bent on world or intergalactic domination, and after the first busy year, things settle down.

He continues his training daily, drills with the team, keeps tabs on world threats during weekly briefings with SHIELD. But without a war on, Steve finds he has a lot of unfilled hours during his day. He hates browsing the internet, the reading tablet Tony’s sent him confuses him, and Steve’s sure his rear has imprinted on the easy chair on the third floor of the library. Quickly he discovers a man can only go through the classics so many times. 

With all that free time, Steve finds himself missing stupid little things from the forties. Knocking on a neighbor's door instead of texting comes to mind, or being able to take a cab from one end of New York City to the other for less than ten dollars. Being able to get a cup of coffee in a coffee shop is number one, though. Nothing with whip cream or fruit flavor that costs an arm and a leg that he has to order in a foreign tongue, just an ordinary cup of coffee. It’s sentimental and old-fashioned, he knows. But Steve has found he’s kind of the embodiment of sentimental and old-fashioned these days, and the world needs a little more of it.

That's why he opens Joe's. 

\--

His love of talking to people and his nostalgia for helping them collide with Steve’s need for decent coffee, so he decides to take his war bonds and salary and put them to use by opening a cafe. It's about three blocks from his old apartment in Brooklyn, an area that's now overrun with young families and tech startups, instead of immigrants and people who were too poor (or stubborn) to leave the old neighborhood. But he finds what's old is new again, and the novelty of a place without hissing espresso machines and twelve types of scones makes it popular with, well, just about everyone.

Darcy hops on board to help Steve while he's training or off on missions, and surprisingly, the other members of his team start to filter in to offer a hand, too. Clint likes Saturdays, when it's busy, and he can fire off orders like his arrows, plating muffins and pouring cups with his well honed precision. Natasha covers early mornings, because no one is really cheerful and ready to talk, and customers seem to appreciate her stoic expression and no-nonsense demand for their money. Bruce likes to sit in the back corner, nursing a mug of tea and debating physics with Tony, who first couldn't help popping by to rub the sure failure of such a limited menu and low-tech equipment in Steve's face, then ate his words when he saw the line out the door on a Thursday. He keeps offering to build Steve a self-sufficient brew system, but Steve just smiles and shakes off the offer, setting a decaf in front of him, knowing that it's Tony's way of making peace. Coulson's been known to drop in occasionally, and Steve keeps a pot of extra-bold roast brewing for just for him in the office. (It's the least he can do, after the whole trading card fiasco.) Thor takes drinks to Jane when she's working late, and never minds when Darcy refuses to let him near the ceramic mugs and only gives him paper cups. (It always elicits a hearty laugh from Thor and a jeering comment about Facebook, which Steve still doesn't really understand.) 

Steve loves his little corner shop, and he enjoys the people who populate it, the young kids who are dazzled by the Avengers and the locals who remember Cap from cinema newsreels. He's a social guy, surprisingly, and other than commanding a team of deadly warriors, Steve thinks Joe's might be his calling. 

He likes to work from nine to five, finding a calming normalcy in keeping regular hours. Steve requires a couple hours sleep, maximum, so he's up at four for a workout until seven, then gets back to his apartment and showers before heading into the shop to assist Natasha. (It might be his business, but Steve thinks the place might be Natasha's baby.) Except for a few hours during the middle of the day, the pace is easy and slow, and people linger over their cups. He busses tables himself and will pull out a chair to chat if someone wants to talk. Steve can't help but feel this might be making up for so many years by himself, absorbing all the human contact he can now. Steve wasn't the most popular guy before the war, despite his efforts, and this is what Bruce would probably call some sort of delayed childhood fantasy gratification. 

Call it what you must, Steve thinks, but he's enjoying it. Technology may have advanced in the seventy years he was frozen, and Steve's not mastered tivo or Skype, but he's pleased when he finds out people haven't changed that much. They're even more inclined to talk to him now, in an age of hundred character messages blinking on a screen. 

And that's how he meets Clark.

\--

It's a Wednesday afternoon, sun streaming through the front windows, slow because mid-terms are over and the college kids who camped in the shop are baking themselves in the warm spring weather. Steve's wiping down the counters when the door jangles and he looks up with a smile. A man about Steve's height ducks into the shop, shirt tails trailing over his jeans and boots heavy on the wood floor. He looks like one of the neighborhood regulars with his beard and worn flannel shirt rolled up over his forearms. He reminds Steve of Thor, imposing in size, while the easy grin he returns is anything but. 

"What can I get you?" 

The guy wrinkles his brow when he sees the menu. "Regular, light cream, no sugar." 

"Something wrong?" Steve ventures to ask, but the other man just shakes his head and hands over a five dollar bill, creased and warm from the wallet he fishes from his back pocket. 

"No, no. Simple, I like it. Reminds me of home," is all he says as Steve counts back three singles and three quarters. The man slides the coins and an additional dollar into the glass jar by the register, the one that proudly bears the Camp Hawkeye logo. (The summer sleepaway camp for orphan kids was Clint's idea, but it kind of belongs to the whole team. They’re all orphans, really, except for their Asgardian prince.) 

Feeling terribly cliched, Steve asks where he's from and the guy answers "Kansas," over his cup. "Thanks for the coffee." 

"Thanks for the tip," Steve says, and the guy leaves, his boots echoing long after he's gone. Easy smiles in New York are rare, and he likes the guy's demeanor. 

\--

The next Wednesday, Steve's sweeping up a pile of grounds when he looks up at the clang of the bell. (Natasha was on edge that morning, and they were jammed through lunch rush so this is the first chance he's been able to take care of it.) 

"Kansas," Steve says, by way of a standard greeting and the smile that breaks across the guy's face is possibly more brilliant than any Steve's seen lately (and working with Tony Stark, that’s saying a lot). 

"Clark, actually, but Kansas works, too." The man offers his hand across the counter. 

"Steve," he replies, and after shaking, Steve pours a cup for Clark, light cream, no sugar. When Clark reaches for his wallet,Steve shakes his head. "You left a bigger tip last week than you paid for the coffee. No need." 

"No, you can't." 

"I insist," he answers, in his best 'Tony, LISTEN to me,' tone.

"Well...thanks, Steve. You're sure?" 

"Positive." Steve picks up his broom to clear up the rest of the mess and almost misses how Clark drops a dollar into the jar, anyhow. He smiles again at Steve and waves with one hand as he pushes his way out the door. 

\--

The following Wednesday, they're in Argentina, on the trail of a rogue pair of HYDRA agents. In the midst of charging an abandoned air hangar, relaying ground intel to Clint and assessing the layout for Tony's strike from above, Steve wonders if Clark stopped by the shop. It's a fleeting thought he tucks away as he hurls his shield towards the younger of their two targets, taking him down with swift efficiency. After handing over the pair to Coulson’s team for interrogation, Steve waits until the team’s safely in the Quinjet, on their way back to New York before revisiting it. He hopes if Clark did come in, Darcy laid off her attitude just a touch. Personally, Steve thinks it's refreshing and Darcy's inability to censor her thoughts reminds him a lot of Peggy, but he’s aware it can come across as harsh if someone’s not used to it. 

Clark probably tipped her double, though, now that he thinks about it. Darcy can be mighty charming when she wants to be. (And Steve thinks Clark would probably appreciate her whip-quick retorts and flirty smile.)

\--

One week turns into two without Clark showing up at the shop, then two weeks turn into months, then it’s fall again when the team is gathered at SHIELD headquarters, glued to a news broadcast. 

It’s aliens this time, and it’s nothing they’ve ever seen. Coulson and Fury have spent an hour back and forth with Thor, but he assures them Asgard still has Loki under control, that none of their enemies have ever looked like this, their aggression unheard of. 

The tech SHIELD has recovered from a similar ship buried in Alaskan ice is biological, something Tony and Bruce can’t wait to get their hands on and analyze. The thought gives Steve the shivers, flashbacks of months and years buried in that endless cold emptiness not something he’s keen on revisiting. He wants to map out a plan, to maximize their attack efforts, but the aliens aren’t interested in world domination right now, it seems they only want one person. 

The name Kal-El buzzes about the table, through the conference call, and suddenly all of SHIELD’s intelligence boomerangs towards finding out who that could possibly be, and how they remained under SHIELD’s radar for so long.. 

Lois Lane is apprehended by a bumbling sector of the FBI in Metropolis, and Fury is livid that the bureau was able to interrogate her first. It’s a media nightmare, and things that are ordinary to Steve and his team are suddenly splashed across every headline and news broadcast on Earth. Kal-El takes the bait and the government simply hands not only Kal-El, but also Lane, over to the aggressors, and a town in Kansas is smashed to oblivion overnight.

HQ is like a hurricane of furious activity, and Steve can’t stand the secondary information anymore, the helplessness he feels seeing the little midwestern farming town in tatters overwhelms him. He gets the nod from Coulson, and the Avengers are deployed to aid in cleanup. 

Darcy texts him that the shop is fine, business as usual, not to worry because she has everything under control. He tries to shake off the statement as reassuring and not something to dread when he returns, and goes back to clearing the streets of Smallville, Kansas. 

When Steve and Clint stop into the Smallville diner for breakfast the next day, he sees a man at the far end of the restaurant with broad shoulders and dark hair laughing at something the older woman across from him says. Steve remembers Clark is from Kansas, wonders how he is, and hopes Clark’s home is nowhere near here. 

\--

The months after the disaster in Metropolis pass in a blur. The destruction in the city is twice what the Chitauri did to New York, and Steve’s heart aches for the people who live there. The guilt that they weren’t able to stop the Kryptonians before they blasted away most of the population weighs on Steve, and he focuses blindly on clearing rubble and rebuilding the city to assuage his heavy thoughts. The media and SHIELD both are calling the guy who stopped the machine Superman. Tony bristles, thinks it sounds too close to Iron Man, afraid someone else who can fly might steal his thunder. Steve can’t help but think the name and the situation are anything but super, but he keeps it to himself.

Reviewing the footage, Superman reminds him of someone, but Steve can’t put his finger on who. Probably someone from the war, a soldier who blazed into battle long before his time. 

Superman disappears again and Steve’s never been so glad to return to Brooklyn, to his little corner of the world. Life eventually returns to normal - at least, Steve’s preferred brand of normal. 

\--

On an unseasonably warm morning in April, the bell over the door of Joe’s rings. A man in a sport coat and thick glasses ambles up to the counter and it takes Steve a moment to place the clean-shaven smile. Steve feels one of his own forming when he realizes who it is. 

“Hi, Clark. Been a while.” He pulls a cup and starts to ready Clark’s usual. Coffee, light cream and no sugar.

“Steve. How have you been?” Clark looks surprised and a little pleased that Steve remembered him. (It mirrors the little curl of happiness behind Steve’s smile.) 

“Busy the last few months, but it’s settled down. Haven’t seen you around much.” 

“Work took me out of town for a while.” 

Steve hands over the cup and starts to tell Clark there’s no charge, but Clark pulls a list from his pocket.

“I’ve got more, apparently the new guy in the office gets sent on the coffee run.” 

“You’re in the neighborhood?” Steve tries to keep the question casual, but cringes inwardly a little at the high, hopeful note in his voice. Clark proffers the sheet of paper in his hand and Steve scans down, pulls more paper cups from the shelf.

“Just started at the Daily Planet.” 

“That’s right, they moved here after that mess in Metropolis.” Steve doesn’t think he imagines the slight flinch on Clark’s face, but keeps the conversation moving lightly while bagging some pastries. Finally, Steve hands a cup carrier and a paper sack to Clark. 

“Well, glad you’re here. Welcome back to the neighborhood.”

Clark looks like he wants to say something else, but just slips the handles of the paper bag over his wrist and hoists the cup carrier. “Thanks, Steve. I’ll see you soon.” 

Steve just nods and watches Clark walk away, holding the door open for a group of women heading into the shop. 

Natasha comes back from her break and just raises a knowing eyebrow at him. Steve shakes his head at her in warning and heads to the back to start roasting a new batch of Hawaiian blend. 

\--

It’s after ten that night, and Steve is mopping the floor of Joe’s. He’s just locked the door when he hears a knock on the glass. 

“Sorry, we closed about ten minutes ago,” he shouts. A passing taxi swings by, the lights illuminating the broad outline of the person turning from the door and Steve recognizes him immediately.

Dropping the mop into the bucket of soapy water, Steve yells, “Wait!” 

He fumbles with the key (super-perception be damned right now) and shoves the door open, calling to Clark down the street.

“Didn’t see you, I’m sorry,” he starts to apologize, but Clark just brushes it off.

“No, I couldn’t remember how late you were open, and I had to stay at work to file copy for the Yankee game.” Clark’s glasses are folded into his pocket and his tie is hanging loosely around his neck.

“You’re a Yankees fan?” 

“Kansas, remember? Royals all the way.” His stomach loudly rumbles and Clark looks down, apologizes. “Anyways. I was going to grab a bite and didn’t know if you were still here. I thought I’d chance it, see if you were hungry, too.” 

Steve takes in the floor, only half-cleaned, and knows Tasha will be all over him tomorrow if he doesn’t finish. 

“Give me ten minutes.”

Clark stacks chairs for Steve and tells him about the crazy bustle at the Planet while Steve finishes the mopping. 

“I don’t think I’d take you for a reporter,” Steve says as they start to walk down the street. 

“A friend of mine, Lois Lane, she works there. She’s the one who got me the job.” 

Steve’s ears prick up a little at the mention of Miss Lane when she comes up again, the way Clark says her name. There’s a fondness in it, reminds Steve of how he feels when he thinks about Peggy. Warm, affectionate, but...lost to him somehow. (Steve doesn’t know if he’s embarrassed or relieved to discover that.)

Across the street, there’s a diner still open, a hole in the wall that strangely makes Steve think of the Smallville cleanup op with Clint. 

They move to the far end of the restaurant, back in the corner, their broad frames crowding either side of the booth. Clark peruses the plastic-laminated menu, and Steve catches a laugh from behind the daily specials.

“Something funny?” he asks, curiously.

“No, nothing, really. Last place I saw liver and onions on the menu anywhere is back home, that’s all. Wouldn’t have figured it to be very popular in New York.” 

Steve remembers politely choking down his grandmother’s liver and onions as a young teenager, back when it was popular and shakes his head. “Takes all kinds, I guess. Where in Kansas are you from?”

“You remembered.” 

“Sure I did.” 

Clark sets the menu down on the table and unbuttons his cuffs, rolling the shirtsleeves up past his wrists before he answers. Then Steve can feel his face warm when he realizes Clark’s been talking to him and Steve has absolutely no idea where Clark said he grew up. Steve just nods and coughs a little, flips the menu over and mentions how pretty Kansas was the last time he visited. 

It’s Clark’s turn to redden slightly, and he seems surprised Steve’s been to his little state out in the middle of nowhere. 

Steve doesn’t mention it was to repair a town razed by some intergalactic grudge-holding tyrant and just mentions that he thinks he’s heard the meatloaf’s pretty decent here.

Clark returns the smile Steve gives him, more open and warm this time, and they place their orders. 

\--

It’s well past midnight when either of them stop talking long enough to even think about checking their watches. Steve’s got a fitness assessment at SHIELD at 6am and he knows, logically, he could stay up all night and still surpass last month’s test numbers, but he thinks he really should get a few hours of shut-eye. Besides, he sees Clark stifle a yawn, and realizes not everyone’s as used to surviving on an hour rack time before heading into their day as he is. 

“I hate to be the one to break up the party, but I have to be up early.”

Clark palms the check when they stand and refuses to let Steve pay for his dinner. He claps Steve on the shoulder and just tells him it’s a thank you for all the free coffee. The warm spot doesn’t fade when Clark removes his hand to pull out his wallet.

It almost feels like a date. 

On the sidewalk outside, it’s quiet for a New York night. 

“Thank you again, but you really didn’t have to buy me dinner,” Steve starts in, but Clark just shakes his head and looks Steve straight in the eye.

“You didn’t have to remember me after so long, but you did. That...that means a lot to me, so thank you.” 

Steve doesn’t know what to say to that, it’s not like Clark’s easy to forget, and Steve’s never really been one to discount people who are kind and genuine to him, going out of their way to make a little conversation. (And to be honest, no one outside of his team looks the way Clark does and still embodies those characteristics. It’s rare and a little wonderful and there’s no way Steve could possibly forget him.) 

The silence stretches, gaze unbroken between them, and it takes the sound of the door opening behind him to finally shake Steve out of it. He’s probably mooning like a schoolboy, but no time to dwell on it. He clears his throat and reaches out to shake Clark’s hand. 

“Thank you again for dinner, Clark. I had a real nice evening.” 

Clark doesn’t let go right away, just nods in agreement. 

“Me too, Steve. Me too.” 

And it’s an awkward moment, with a tension that reminds Steve of the calm before the bombs start dropping everywhere, changing the landscape of everything familiar around him, and he wonders if Clark’s thinking the same thing, if the look of almost...longing on Clark’s face is what’s mirrored on his own.

Clark pulls his hand back and offers a quiet goodnight before heading off down the street, without so much as a look over his shoulder at Steve. 

\--

Steve sleeps terribly, punching and flipping the pillow beneath his head at least a dozen times before the alarm clock by his bed goes off. Weak light streaks across the horizon when Steve enters HQ and starts his tests, weary but functional. 

Coulson barely raises an eyebrow when Steve mentions he didn’t get much rest and just says that Steve passed and he’ll see the team at the Tower later in the week. 

On the way home, Steve fingers the phone in his jacket pocket, debates calling Darcy in, asking her to cover the mid-shift. In the end, he knows that he won’t get any rest, even if he did go home, and heads into Joe’s. 

\--

Two hours later, the tide finally ebbs and even Steve’s considerable patience is stretched out like an old rubber band. Natasha is cursing in Russian under her breath at customers, but mostly at Steve, when the doorbell jingles. 

Steve looks up from the counter he’s wiping down and sees a tied bunch of sunflowers, quickly pushed into his hands. He recognizes the watch and looks up to meet Clark’s face, not a little dumbfounded.

“What?” is all that comes out and immediately Clark shakes his head and points to the end table. Steve follows and when they sit, Steve just looks from the wide yellow blooms to Clark’s face. He’s unsettled by the expression he finds there, nervous and unsure. 

“I tried to find them last night, but no one was open. I... they’re from Kansas. And they’re for you.” 

Steve doesn’t know what to say. No one’s ever given him flowers before. He’s, well, flabbergasted. That would probably be the right word. He can see Natasha pretending not to watch them from the corner of his gaze and fumbles for a response. “They’re real pretty, Clark, but can I ask why?” 

Clark shrugs a little, swallows hard. He swallows again before speaking. “My mom told me a gentleman brings flowers on a date.” 

The relief that fills Steve is almost dizzying, a wave he didn’t know was lurking and waiting to wash over him. He opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. There are dozens of things Steve could probably say, better, more suave, more collected and intelligent comebacks that would put Tony Stark to shame, but the first thing that comes to Steve’s mind is what pops out. 

“Your mom raised you right. I think I’d like to tell her that.”

Clark’s handsome face is transformed, even more dazzling, when he smiles. He reaches out and covers Steve’s hand with his own. 

“I think she’d be really pleased to hear that.”


End file.
